by E. R. Fallon
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.”
“But he didn’t heed your advice?” Camille said.
“No, obviously, he didn’t.”
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but you should know that you don’t have to go through with anything.”
“My mother thinks I should.”
“You don’t have to listen to her, you’re all grown up.”
“Are you saying my mother is wrong?” Camille asked her, pulling her hand away from Lucille’s.
“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying it’s okay to be your own person,” Lucille said gently.
“My mother must have not liked you.” Camille paused when Lucille looked at her. “It’s all right, I know she can be difficult.”
“I never met your mother, but your father talked about her.”
“I’m not surprised, my mother’s the jealous type. How did my father talk about her? I already figured out that they got married after she was pregnant with me. Did he marry her just because of that? Did he love her?”
“Those kinds of questions are better discussed with your mother,” Lucille told her.
“You don’t want to tell me, I understand. Did you really just come here to get a look at me?”
Lucille nodded.
“I wish I’d known him,” Camille said.
“I wish you had as well,” Lucille said.
Camille asked her if she wanted more coffee and Lucille declined, but Camille got up to pour more for herself. She returned to the couch.
“Are you hungry?” she asked Lucille again. “I just realized I haven’t eaten breakfast.”
“I’m fine but please eat if you are.”
Camille didn’t want to abandon her guest again, so she decided to wait. “That’s okay, I’ll wait,” she told Lucille.
“Are you married?” Lucille asked, looking around the apartment for signs of a man. “I didn’t see a ring, but some young people don’t wear them these days.”
Camille shook her head.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Lucille asked her.
Camille nodded. “You might find this interesting, actually. You must know about my father’s friend, Johnny Garcia?”
“Yes, I do,” Lucille said quietly.
“I’m dating his son.”
Lucille looked at her and didn’t say anything and her face blanched. Then she looked away.
“What’s the matter?” Camille asked, internally searching for a reason for Lucille’s behavior.
Lucille had a difficult time looking her in the eye. “You don’t know about your father and Johnny.”
“You knew Johnny also?”
“Yes, I did.”
“They were friends. What else is there for me to know?”
“Johnny died before your father did,” Lucille said.
“I know, my mother told me.”
“Your father, he had something to do with Johnny’s death.”
The revelation hit Camille like a cold splash of water in winter. At first, she considered that Lucille might be lying because she didn’t want to believe her.
“That isn’t true,” said a stunned Camille.
“I’m afraid it is,” Lucille said quietly.
Camille rose from the couch and paced in the room. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked Lucille. “Is that why you came here?”
“No, no, I don’t want to upset you.”
“You have. You’ve told me my father is a monster.”
“He wasn’t, but he made mistakes.”
“He killed his best friend, that’s the worst kind of ‘mistake’.”
“He didn’t kill him, but he was there when it happened, and he didn’t stop it. It tore him up inside afterwards and he was never the same person. Johnny was in a rival gang, and your father made a choice, and it was the wrong one. But you, Camille, you have the opportunity to say no.”
“You’re telling me not to become like him?”
“In a way, yes. You’re at a crossroads, and you have a choice.”
“Why did you tell me about my father and his friend? Why should I believe you, when I don’t even know you?” She spoke as though Lucille must have had a motive for revealing it.
“I’m telling you the truth. I cared about your father very much, and so I care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why, because Johnny would leave me if he knew? He’s told me he wants to kill the people responsible for his father’s death, and because that means my father and because my father isn’t around any longer, does that mean he wants to kill me? He just told me he loved me,” Camille said to Lucille. “And now I have to tell him that what we had was based on lies.”
“You don’t have to tell him anything,” Lucille said.
Camille sat down on the couch and looked at her. “No, I should. If I don’t, then what kind of relationship would that be? I can’t lie to him, although I know it will be over for us once I tell him.”
“You shouldn’t have to be punished for your father’s mistakes. Don’t tell him. I’m sure it won’t ever come up, so don’t bring it up.”
“It doesn’t matter, now that I know, I should tell him. I love Johnny. I can’t lie to him, even if that means losing him.” Camille paused. “That’s why my mother didn’t want me seeing Johnny. She must’ve known what my father did. I wish she had told me, because then I would have never gotten involved with him.”
“But then you would’ve missed out on knowing love,” Lucille said, as though she was trying to lighten the mood.
“Then I never would have gotten hurt,” Camille replied, unable to reciprocate her attempt at warmth at that moment. “You should leave. I’m not angry with you but you should go. I need to be alone for a while.”
Lucille nodded. “I understand,” she said. She thanked Camille for the coffee and rose from the couch.
Camille saw her to the door.
Lucille turned and looked at her before she exited. “Your mother didn’t know about your father and me. I would appreciate if you wouldn’t tell her about me and that I came here.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Camille told her.
“I’d like to see you again,” Lucille told her.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Camille said, with her hand on the door. “I know you were my father’s friend, and I respect that.”
Lucille had brought Camille’s father’s secrets with her, some of which had devastated Camille, and Camille didn’t want to learn any more. She realized that for her entire life her mother had told her some truths about her father, but she’d also told her many lies.
Lucille looked down at her hands and nodded. She left and Camille closed the door behind her.
Camille loved Johnny and her love made her selfish, so in the end she decided not to tell Johnny what Lucille had told her.
22
With the help of Mrs. Valeria and with Catherine McCarthy still in jail, Camille gradually began to take control of some of the neighborhood with her mother’s guidance. She started with moving in on the jukebox leasing and servicing business that the McCarthys had let slide, which included providing local establishments with the latest records.
Then something happened.
Rafael, Johnny’s second in command, was beaten outside a local restaurant when he was alone, and Johnny’s gang blamed Violet’s men. One night afterwards, the gang set McBurney’s on fire when it was closed for the night. Camille could hear the fire engines from her street and could see and smell the thick smoke.
Camille disliked Violet and her mother but McBurney’s had meant something special to the entire neighborhood, so in turn, that meant it meant something to Camille. She confronted Johnny about it when he took her for a ride in his car one day in the late morning during a holiday when the city was quieter and the traffic less difficult to navigate. Ever since learning what Lucille had told her, Camille found it difficul
t to be around Johnny, but she had been unable to avoid him when he showed up at her apartment with his car.
“I knew about it, but I didn’t participate,” Johnny told her as he drove. “Besides, I thought you hated them.”
“I don’t like either of them, but the pub meant something to the neighborhood. It’s been there for a long time. It’s a landmark.”
“They put Rafael in the hospital. It was payback.”
“There might have been another way to go about it,” Camille suggested.
“Like beat them up? That would start a war with them, and we’d probably lose.”
“Torching their pub is almost as awful. And you wouldn’t lose if you joined me and the Russians. Or do you have something against them as well?”
“No, but Cuban gangs don’t work with Irish ones, at least not in this neighborhood. It was an Irish gang who beat Rafael.”
“I have nothing to do with them,” Camille said. “I dislike them, too. We used to say the same thing about the Russians, we used to not work with them, but I changed that. You have no problem dating an Irish girl.”
“I love Irish girls, and I love you, I just can’t work with your group.” Johnny looked at her and winked. “You know how I feel about Irish gangs, after what they did to my father,” he added in a more somber tone.
“Do you feel that way about me?”
“Of course not. It’s a symbolic thing for me, that’s all, like their pub was for you. I love you.” He reached down for her hand and squeezed.
“Is Rafael going to be okay?” Camille asked.
“The doctors say he was badly hurt, but he’ll survive. He might have permanent damage to his hand, though.”
“Should we stop by the hospital to visit him?” Camille asked.
“I’m not sure,” Johnny said.
“What do you mean?”
“Rafael doesn’t like that I’m seeing you,” Johnny said softly.
“You never told me that. I thought your guys were fine with us being together.”
“The others are fine with it. Pedro especially, he loves you. But Rafael, he’s very old school, and in his way of thinking Cuban men should date Cuban women.”
“We’re just supposed to avoid him? How’s that going to work if he’s close to you and I am also?”
“We don’t have to avoid him, but he’s in the hospital so I thought it best to respect his wishes.”
“He wants to act like I don’t exist? And you’re all right with that?” The revelation had offended Camille, although she wasn’t entirely surprised to hear it.
“I’m not okay with it.” Johnny took his eyes off the road to look at her then quickly braked at a red light.
Camille was jolted forward in the car, then she wouldn’t look at Johnny.
“Rafael and I have argued a lot about it,” he said. “He’s one of my closet friends and he’s hardly speaking to me. But I don’t care because I love you. Camille, look at me. I love you.”
Camille held his gaze and saw honesty in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I was angry with you about McBurney’s,” she told him.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said with a smile. “But does this mean you forgive me?”
His apprehensive expression was like a boy’s, and she said, “Yes.”
Then something happened again that evening, and everything changed.
Camille was at home, getting ready for bed and making herself a cup of tea. There was a persistent knock on her door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, not even Johnny, so, startled, she grabbed her gun and went to the door. She peered out the eyehole, and somewhat expected to see Lucille again, but it was Johnny. She put the gun on the hallway table and unlocked and opened the door.
“You scared me,” she said to him. “I didn’t know who you were.”
Johnny seemed distraught. His hair looked wild and his eyes red-rimmed. He stood there, not speaking, and didn’t seem to know what to do.
“Are you all right?” Camille asked him in concern.
Johnny shook his head. “They killed him, they killed Pedro. I’ve just come from the hospital. He’s dead.”
Camille felt as if her legs would give in and she started to fall, and Johnny steadied her in his arms. She didn’t know Pedro well, but she’d liked him, and the news shocked her.
“Who did? What happened?” Camille asked him weakly as he held her. “Was it the father of the girl he was seeing? I think her name was Fiona. Pedro told me her father disliked him a lot.”
“No, it was one of Violet’s men, this guy named Jake, he killed Pedro.”
“Jake. I know him from the pub, but not well. Did Violet ask him to do it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How did Pedro die, did Jake shoot him?”
“No, he beat him to death, like they almost did to Rafael.”
“My God, poor Pedro. That’s horrific. He was such a good kid.”
“He was,” Johnny said, coughing back tears.
They’d been talking with Johnny standing in the hallway, and then he came in all the way and Camille shut the door.
“Violet must have asked Jake to do it, since it was her pub that was torched,” Camille told Johnny in her living room as she held him.
Johnny gradually moved out of her arms and sat down on the couch, but Camille didn’t feel like sitting; she felt like doing something about what had happened. Then the reality of what happened to Pedro sunk in and her eyes filled with tears. Johnny got up from the couch to console her and dried her eyes with his sleeve.
“Pedro really admired you,” Johnny told her. “He thought the world of you.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone. He was just a kid. He had his whole life ahead of him.”
“I know, it’s unimaginable,” Johnny said, stroking her face.
“We have to do something about it,” Camille spoke with determination.
“I don’t disagree, but I can’t start a war with them. We’d lose. They have the Italians on their side.”
“We can help you,” Camille insisted. “I can help you.”
“You’d need the Italians’ help.”
Camille cursed her stepfather for failing to bring the Alfonsi family over to her side. She would give him a little more time and then tell her mother his secret.
“I think I can convince them,” Camille told Johnny.
“Because of your stepfather?”
She nodded. “They said no initially, because of Violet, but there’s something that I have against my stepfather that is an incentive for him to convince them.” She nestled deeper into Johnny’s strong chest.
“It must be something big, for you to have such confidence.”
“It is,” she said.
“Now, I’m curious. Tell me.”
Internally, Camille debated whether to tell him and how much to tell him. So, she just said, “He did something to me when I was younger.”
Johnny peered at her with concern deep in his eyes. “Camille, what did he do to you? You have me worried.”
"He attacked me when I was a teenager," she whispered. She didn’t know why she felt ashamed, as it wasn’t her fault, but she was.
“That bastard, I’ll kill him,” Johnny said, seething with rage. He held onto Camille’s body more tightly, as if to protect her.
“No, you’re not going to do anything about it,” Camille instructed him. “I’m using it against him to get what I want. Don’t worry, he’ll be punished.”
“Your mother doesn’t know, right? That’s what you threatened to do, tell your mother?”
Camille nodded.
“How will he be punished, then, since you won’t tell her if he does what you want?” Johnny asked as he held onto her. His body rocked and she moved with him.
“Men like him don’t get punished, he’s with the Alfonsis. But he is afraid of what my mother thinks. The best revenge is him being terrified I’ll tell, knowing that I have that power, and making hi
m do what I want. Trust me, this way is best.”
“But what if he can’t bring them over to your side?”
“Then I’ll tell my mother,” Camille said, stepping out of his arms.
She walked into the kitchen and he followed her.
“I’d been in the middle of making tea when you arrived,” she told him. “Would you like some?”
“I’ve never tried tea,” he said.
His words made her smile. “Are you kidding me?”
“Iced tea, but not hot tea. My mother likes it, though.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. Let me make you a cup,” she insisted, seeking some comfort in the tumultuous moment.
“All right, thanks,” Johnny said.
“I meant it when I said we have to do something about what happened to Pedro,” Camille told him as she reheated the water. Then she concluded, firmly, “I’m going to call Violet. She thinks she can do something like this and there won’t be consequences? Nobody’s that powerful.”
“We don’t call the cops, no matter what happens,” Johnny said.
“I know that, but I need to talk with her.”
“What’s that going to get you?”
“She needs to know someone cares. She needs to know she made a huge mistake and that I’m certainly not going anywhere now. What she did has made me dig my heels in deeper.”
The water came to a boil and the kettle whistled and Camille got two mugs out of the cupboard.
“You’re already upset, calling her will only anger you further,” Johnny replied in a gentle way. “I don’t want to see you become more upset.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m going to give her a call after I’ve made the tea.”
She brought the mugs of tea into the living room and set them on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“I would like to attend his funeral,” Camille said.
“We can go together,” Johnny said.
“Rafael won’t mind?”
Johnny stroked her arm. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
Johnny sat down on the couch and Camille went into the kitchen again, where the phone was. Given the hour, and because Violet had no pub to tend to, she figured that Violet would be at home with Tommy.
“I wouldn’t call her,” Johnny spoke to Camille from the living room. “She’ll upset you.”
